Meles Meles
by GypsyxBells
Summary: An exploration into the world of one of the many characters of Watership Down that were only featured briefly in the story. Rated T for very mild violence.


The lendri licked its lips; the forest was peaceful tonight. The lendri liked nights like these; the soft rustling of the leaves filled its ears, the earthy scent of the decaying forest floor permeated the air. The lendri padded softly along the ground, nose pressed lightly into the thick layer of leaves that covered the forest floor, snuffling as it searched for the keen scent of its prey. The lendri was proud of its nose. The sensitive instrument, perched at the end of its long black and white striped snout, allowed the lendri to perceive more than enough in a single sniff to feed itself for the night.

The lendri was hungry. It hadn't eaten since the night before, and the rumblings in its stomach had been enough to rouse it from its slumber and out of its burrow. Food had been scarce lately; the dry weather as of late meant that even in the dark, damp forest grubs and worms burrowed deep into the soil, seeking the safety of moist earth. The chances of catching a vole or a shrew were slim; the lendri was getting old.

The lendri pushed its way through a thicket of brambles, following the stale scent left by some sort of small mammal earlier in the day. A low hoot sounded through the forest; the owls were out. The lendri disliked owls. They were fierce competition for its prey – they snatched up the best kinds of food far more quickly than the lendri could ever hope to, and rodents fled to their burrows at even the slightest rustle of feathers on the wind.

Vaguely irritated, the lendri stopped to snuffle at a place in the earth that was particularly damp. Catching a whiff of an almost sweet scent that smelled rather like an earthworm, the lendri began to dig, scratching away at the moist soil with its long, slender claws. After a few moments the lendri felt the slippery movement of a particularly fat worm beneath its forepaws. Swiftly it thrust its snout into the hole it had made, slurping up the wriggling thing with a contented sniffle. After licking its lips, the lendri moved on, hungering for more.

A bush rustled. With reflexes belying its age and relaxed, lethargic demeanour the lendri struck, snapping the neck of the rat it had startled between its jaws in the same moment the cowardly thing sprang from its hiding place to flee. The lendri devoured the rodent quickly, enjoying the warm flavour of blood and real meat on its palate, scarcely minding the brittle bones that poked and scratched as the rat slid slowly down its gullet.

After allowing itself a brief moment of contented pride at this kill, the lendri moved on. It occurred to the lendri that now might be a good time to return to its burrow; a full stomach was making it slow and drowsy. It paused, however, when it picked up an interesting scent on the light spring breeze. This scent was nearly unfamiliar to the lendri; it had been many seasons since this particular smell had graced its nostrils.

A rather warm scent, heady and rich. The underlying scent was thin, however, tainted by the hardship of a scarcity of food and cold winters. The lendri's interest was piqued. It began forward again at a leisurely pace, letting its nose direct it toward the intriguing smell. As it drew closer, it began to pick up sounds of animals speaking. The lendri was unfamiliar with the lapine language – for this was the language the animals were speaking – and so paid no attention to whatever it was they were saying. As the lendri lumbered over clumps of moss, roots and leaves, the sounds of conversation faded into the heavy silence of intent listening; the lendri paid this no attention.

The smell was very strong now – quite tantalizing – and the lendri found that its mouth was watering. Soon it came upon a clump of ferns and, upon pushing its head through the lush green plants, found itself looking upon more rabbits than it could count. The rabbits were sitting on a path that smelled faintly of men.

The lendri looked at the rabbits. The rabbits looked back at the lendri, frozen in whatever positions they had been occupying when the lendri's head had broken through the ferns. Surveying the scene before it, the lendri pondered. The scent of so many rabbits gathered so close together had become cloying, almost irritating to the lendri's sensitive nostrils. The lendri gauged the size of each rabbit in silent calculation; some of them, it decided, were small enough to eat. The lendri opened its mouth – lips still dripping with the blood of its last kill – in anticipation of another meal.

One of the rabbits moved; a large one with a strange mop of fur on the crown of its head started forward in tense hop. It muttered something in lapine to another of the rabbits, a mid-sized brown one. All at once the assembled animals took off and were gone, leaving the lendri blinking at empty space and the warm depressions in the grass where they had been sitting.

The lendri paused; it could still hear and smell the rabbits – they were moving away to the south. After a moment of slow consideration, the lendri turned and ambled back the way it had come, promptly forgetting the encounter and thinking only of the close, comforting darkness of its burrow.


End file.
